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When A Little Does A Lot

The difference between decorating or designing a home or room and staging it is that in staging you primarily work with what is already there (unless the home is vacant and you bring in furniture) and make it as pleasing to the eye as you possibly can.

This often means eliminating some of their things (clutter, mismatched furniture, too large furniture, outdated decor) and bringing in new things to freshen things up a bit and add new life to an old space.

Most of the time, you have the opportunity to preview a home before bringing things in so that you know what to bring from your inventory that will best work with the current furniture/paint colors/decorative pieces.

For most of the jobs that I’ve done in the past three weeks, I have had to go in blind, with no idea of what the house looks like, what colors are prevalent and the style/taste of that particular client.

A little terrifying, yes.

But there is something magical that happens when the things I happen to unwittingly bring or purchase blend with the homeowners own belongings.  This is when I do my happy dance, and my creative self breaks into an operatic  ‘Aaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!!”

Today was such a day.

This woman’s wall colors could not have been more spot on with everything I brought/bought to stage her home.

I won’t bore you will all the before and after pictures, but here a just a few that show that a few simple changes can transform a room right before your eyes.

These are the bedroom before and afters:

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before

The living areas were just as dramatic and just as fun to watch come to life.

And now, little house, go to market and sell, sell, sell!

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Comfort Violation

“I feel violated.”

Not the response you want to get when staging a person’s home.

Definitely not what I expected to hear when I was in the process of transforming a rental home for selling last week.

I wasn’t there to disrupt a family or make the tenant angry.

I was there because I had a job to do, and a beautiful presentation was my only goal.

I was there because the owner of the home knew what needed to be done to make this house shine to sell quickly.

“But I feel violated.  It doesn’t feel like our home any more.”

The words stung my ears.

Though I admit it was through slightly gritted teeth, I tried to encourage her through the process.  To comfort her and remind her that this was a necessary part of the process of selling a home.  I tried to be sensitive to her concerns and needs.

And while I was initially hurt and irritated by this statement that seemed to disrespect the hard work I was putting in, there was a part of me that also understood.

I was moving things around.  I was putting personal items away and eliminating familiar clutter.  I was changing everything that felt normal to this family.

My presence in that house was an unwelcome reminder to this tenant that their world was being turned upside down and that they would soon be leaving this beautiful home, uncertain where they would rent next.

No matter what I did to beautify, her verbalized intent was to return things to how they had been.  Back to her old normal.

Gosh, that sounds like me.

God comes in to start working on something inside me, His only goal to make me more lovely inside.

But all I can feel is the shift of the proverbial rug being taken from under my feet.  All I see is removal and unwanted rearranging that doesn’t feel like my comfortable normal.  I just want to go back to my old ways of thinking, acting, viewing of things.

“I feel violated,” I can hear my heart saying.

Jesus is quick to remind me that the finished product will surprise and delight me if I just let Him do His work.  If I trust that He is the expert and knows what He’s doing.  He encourages me along the way that He is well aware of my frail human perspective of the process, and that He won’t fail me.

“I promise it will be good,” He says.

Yesterday I returned to the house to make sure things were in place for professional photos.

 And the woman whom I had filled with so much angst was now smiling at me.

I think she actually was kind of getting used to this new normal, maybe even starting to enjoy the beauty of the rearranged look. There was a little more trust in me.

Over the course of just one weekend, her perspective had changed a bit.  I’m hoping that she saw that the changes made were things that, at least at some level, could be maintained. That the result of simplifying might actually work to make her life a little easier.

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(Before and After Family Room)

After the house sells and I go back to gather my decor and staging items, I know that she will be relieved that it will be the last time she sees me. :-)

But I also hope that when we say our goodbyes that she will have come away from the experience feeling like some part of it was worth the pain.  That maybe she gleaned something that she can take forward with her.

I hope I do the same.

I want the changes that Jesus works into my life to be permanent, not just temporary fixes.  I want to leave in place the things He has rearranged and make room for either new pieces or further removal.

Because, honestly, I am just the tenant.

He is the owner of this temporary dwelling that is me.

And He knows what needs to be done in His deeply valued possession….

Philippians 1:6 – And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.

Ephesians 2:10 – For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.

1 Corinthians 6:19 – Don’t you realize that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who lives in you and was given to you by God? You do not belong to yourself…

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Making It Official

This is my new business card that is subject to change, depending on the final product of my new website (still in the works).

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With things happening so quickly, I needed something to give to people for future references and referrals.

While I was designing this, I got a call from another realtor (thanks, Deanna!) and will be staging for her tomorrow!

Like I said before, my head is just spinning….

xoxoxo

J

P.S.  Even if you aren’t moving, but would like to give your home a fresh new look with staging, please let me know! !

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God Thunk

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Nobody wants my house.

Oh, everybody loves it.  People have come back multiple times and even written offers.  But every single time, something has fallen through or come up short.

Jesus has shut the door, nearly literally, on the sale of our home.

The fact that it hasn’t sold has left people baffled. And I was one of them.

But now I’m smiling with the contentment that comes from knowing that God is doing something far greater than selling a house here. Something way more creative than I could have imagined.

It’s not about 415 Abbie Street.

It’s about his roundabout way of beautifully answering a prayer with the word “No.”

The way I met our realtors and the manner in which that ball began rolling was, in itself, a little miracle.  My thick skull, of course, thought our connection was all about the obvious.

Clearly, I was wrong.

What has sprung up instead, is the partnering of realtors to a stager.  Someone who could help relieve a little of the stress of these realtors’ incredible work load and enhance the selling and buying experience for clients.  Someone whom God had been speaking to over and over about using the gift of taking old things and making them new for the benefit of others.  Someone who is in the process of creating a blog/website called My Father’s House that can so seamlessly be intertwined with both the literal and the analogical meanings of beautifying a home.

It was never about selling my house.

It was about helping to sell the homes of others and finding my “home” in the process.

Without pursuing it, an opportunity has quickly emerged.  An opportunity so perfect that I would never have even had the inkling to ask God for something so fitting for my heart and skills.  It leaves my head spinning and my heart thrilling.

Thank you, Liz and Deanna for this chance to use what God has given.

Thank you, Jesus, for seeing the big picture and working behind the scenes of the obviously shut doors to create picture windows of blessing and opportunity.

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Whodathunk?

God thunk.

The sign in my front yard has been removed.

But the signs of true purpose and direction are only just beginning….

 – Are you (like me) trying to wedge open doors that God is closing?

– With your preoccupation of trying to make something happen, are you missing the hidden things God is doing in another       direction?

– Can you look at “no” as a lovely answer that sheds light on a new area?

– Can you trust that God is who He says He is and that He does what He says He will do?

He has a YES waiting for you.  

Aren’t you excited to discover it? :-)

Jeremiah 29:11 -” For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

Isaiah 64:4 – Since ancient times no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who acts on behalf of those who wait for him.

1 Corinthians 2:9 – “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him.”

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This New Day’s Prayer

delicate dandelion

Before the day takes on its shape

And molds me to its own

Before these dandelion thoughts

By busyness are blown

Before the sunshine calls my name

And beckons me to dance

Before sweet time births its to-do’s

Through life and happenstance

I will sit

I will wait

I will listen and will hear

The beauty of that “still small voice”

That whispers in my ear

My Guide will guide, my Teacher teach

My Father hold me close

My Comforter will comfort me

My Healer diagnose

I know of time

It won’t stand still

But as for me

I can, I will

So speak, Dear Jesus

I am here

Captivate my mind,

My ear

Sing the songs You have for me

Teach me the words, the tune, the beat

Read Your stories, cite Your prose

And I will listen, lean in close

Impress Your thoughts upon my heart

Each deep and rich and lovely part

Then send me on to face this day

Your truth, my truth

Your way, my way

Unfold my hands, unleash my words

Use my life so You are heard

Until tomorrow brings its day

Where once again this prayer I’ll pray….

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A Closer Look At The Little “g”

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Texting.

It’s how I function these days.

I send love notes to the friends and family and let them fly from my phone the wings of cyber space.

It’s how I make appointments and set up one-on-one’s.

I love its function and efficiency.

I love the voice activation that sends messages when my hands are otherwise occupied.

I love the spell check that fixes my too-fat-fingers’ mistakes.

And I love the automatic capitalization.

It automatically capitalizes names, places and first words of sentences without my having to think about it.

Except for one word.

 god.

Of all the things in the entire universe that should be given the honor of an uppercase “G”, the word god is not.

I mean, in a way I get it.  The word god can be used to denote lesser things than the true meaning.

But why isn’t “God” the automatic default response?

Honestly, it made me sad.

It reminded me that texting autocorrect is not the only thing that minimizes the God I love.

I’m guilty of it, too.

Maybe not in my spelling, but in my life.

How often do I give God the lowercase “g” by trying to maintain control of the things in my life; things that belong only in the hands of the One who gifted me with them in the first place?

 – my time

 – my money

 – my family

 – my gifts and abilities

 – my problems, for Pete’s sake

Or how about when I fail to see His inscription, His signature with a capital “G” in the miracles of every day life?  The beauty of His handiwork and magnificent mind?

 – His creation

 – His answers

 – His mysterious ways

 – His presence

 – His attention to detail

Oh, and what about that little box?  You know.  The box that comfortably contains a small “g” god?  The one I don’t expect too much from so I won’t be disappointed?

 The tiny “god” that seems to appropriately fit my tiny faith.

If I somehow believe that the size of my “mustard-seed faith is in direct proportion to my god then I won’t see the wonderful things that my God can do:

 – His miracles of healing and growth

 – His Power to change me or my circumstances

 – His ability to “work all things together for good”

 – His capacity to take my little and make it much

 The visual of a lowercase “g” in my God’s name is offensive to me.

But even more offensive is my lowercase “g” attitude toward who God really is in this world, in my life.

Every time I see a little “g”, I want it to serve as an icon to prompt me to do three things:

  1.  Open my hands – releasing the things I’m holding on to so tightly

  2.  Open up my eyes – to see Him in and around and through all things

3.  Open up the little box – to let the Capitol G escape the confines of my own understanding and blow me away.

Think about it.  The little “g” is closed.  Small and insignificant.  But the Big “G” is big and round and open.  It commands respect just by its stature.  It signifies beginnings and important things.

THAT’S the kind of God I want to acknowledge in everything I say and do and think.

Texting doesn’t give God the automatic “G” He deserves. Every time I text the word “god” I will have to be deliberate in choosing an uppercase “G”.

And maybe THAT is precisely the point…. 

Isaiah 45:5 – I am the Lord, and there is no other, besides me there is no God.

Isaiah 52:6 – But I will reveal my name to my people, and they will come to know its power. Then at last they will recognize that I am the one who speaks to them.

Revelation 1:8 – I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, saith the Lord, which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty.

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Reflections From The Back Row

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Yesterday was possibly the strangest Easter I’ve ever had.

My husband is in China and three out of four of my children were in all in their respective places around the globe.

My extended family is two states away.

Even my local daughter ended up being called into work at the last minute.

Sitting in an Easter service alone was unfamiliar territory and something I wasn’t necessarily looking forward to. Celebrations like these were meant to be spent with loved ones.

Reluctantly, I put on the boots of sheer determination and headed off to church by myself.

As soon as I got out of the car, it was more obvious than ever that this Holiday was meant for family units.

All around me were babies and children decked out in their beautiful Easter outfits, husbands and wives talking about their brunch plans and grandparents snapping pictures of the whole scene.

Entire rows of seats were saved for these celebrating families.

It was the perfect set up for a lonely day.

Uncharacteristically, I sat in the very last seat of the auditorium, an inconspicuous and solo worshiper who longed for her family to be sitting next to her.

But as the music started, every word reminding me of the outrageous significance of the day, the tears that rolled down my face had nothing to do with the fact that I was alone.

The emotion that welled up inside of me was surprising, even to me.  Having celebrated this day for more than half a century, I wondered what preempted this gut response that seemed to come out of nowhere.

And then it hit me.

The power of the Resurrection, the story of New Life and Transformation, of the Dead coming to Life and an Empty Grave were more than just familiar truths from scripture to me this year.

This past year I have seen that Power.

That same Power that raised Jesus from the dead has produced similar miracles in my life and the lives of those I know and love this past year.

– This year marked the privilege of seeing a dying woman come to living faith before she drew her last breath on this planet.  Jesus’ resurrection was the only way any of that was possible.

– The past 12 months gave way to transformed lives around me.  The graves of addiction emptied by the exit of those experiencing New Life made possible by the Power of Another who left an empty tomb.

– Three hundred and sixty five days culminated in the Death of My Fear and the Birth of New Hope.  All because Someone died for that very purpose.

– The span of 52 weeks allowed me the honor of seeing the Easter story shared in a foreign land with people who have never heard it before. A poignant visual of the poor and broken and lost that Jesus came to touch and heal and save.

– Since last year’s celebration of this Holy Day,  miracles in the lives of friends and family have taken my breath away.  Miracles without human explanations.  Miracles that could only be realities because of the Power of the Cross and the Glory of abandoned Grave Clothes.

This past year I got to experience the Resurrection in the most personal and real-life-practical of ways.

And so, in the most unlikely of circumstances, in the solitude of the last seat in the back row,

my strange little Easter ended up being probably one of my most memorable.

Just me and Jesus behind the crowd. All alone. Sharing the wonder of that Resurrection Power that has presented itself over the course of the past 525,600 minutes of my life.

The shameless tears that fell were full of the immense gratitude that comes from a life impacted by a Life given.

How have you experienced that Power?

Can you look back at this past year and see specific times and events that wouldn’t have been possible without the magnificence of the Easter reality?

If you know Jesus, that kind of power is available in your life.  That death-to-life power that changes things from the inside out.

He is still in the business of miracles.

He empties graves every day.

And the result is a Life forever changed….

Philippians 3:10 – I want to know Christ and experience the mighty power that raised him from the dead.

Romans 8:11 – And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of his Spirit who lives in you.

Acts 1:8 –  But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.

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The Sunday She Didn’t See Coming

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There he stood, hammer in hand, working diligently next to his step-father, this boy she loved more than life itself.

As she watched from a safe distance, gazing, as only a mother can, at the beauty of her son, she was reminded once again that

He was not like the other boys.

Oh, he looked like any other Jewish boy in town with his dark hair and olive skin.  His voice and body were changing just like his peers.

But his mind, his heart, his soul, were old from the day he was born.

His insides did not match his still boyish outsides.  She could hear it in his probing questions that astounded her.  She could see it when the other pre-teens bullied another child and he would run to defend the adolescent underdog with his lion heart and then tend to him with his tender but strong, carpenter-in-the-making hands.

He didn’t look at girls the way the other boys did, or even as any of the other men in her world.  You could tell by the way he talked with them that he considered them his equals, that he valued them.  She saw it in the way he talked to her each time they had a mother-son discussion.

He looked directly into her eyes and seemed to see the things that even her husband couldn’t.

Others were drawn to him.  Even at his young age, he was an incredible story teller.  Adults and children alike gathered to listen to his tales that seemed to hold deeper meaning than they could truly understand.  He was known to even carry on theological discussions with the church leaders and leave them scratching their heads with his wisdom.

Who was this child she was raising?  This beautiful enigma that both amazed and confounded her?

Her mind flashed back to the day she found out she was pregnant with him.

There was a messenger with a clear message of who she would give birth to.

This child that was unconventional from the time he was miraculously planted in her womb.

He would be the Son of God. This is what she was told. He would free His people, and all the people to come, from their sins.

He would free her.

His vast wisdom, his unending love and devotion, his tender heart of compassion and his powerful words.  It was who he was.

Heaven come to earth.

She brushed the tears from her cheek as she looked at him with an ache inside.  The ache of knowing that he wasn’t just hers. That he never really was. That he belonged to a world that neither really understood or would believe in him or who he was.

Her mind couldn’t go to the day that he would do what was his destiny, his purpose.  How could she?  She didn’t understand it herself.  Didn’t want to understand it.

It was too much for a mother’s heart to grasp and bear.

The sound of the hammer hitting a spike brought her back from her daydream.  Her beloved son and her devoted husband finishing up another project.

Just like any other son and his father.  

She let herself believe it. She smiled at the perfect picture before her and let herself soak in the moment that she knew would too soon be gone….

Oh, Mary, how could you know the irony that was right in front of you?  

That it would be a hammer and spike similar to these that would put this beautiful boy of yours on a tree?

You had no way of knowing the pain that the two of you would face before his 34th birthday.  That you would spend the first Good Friday staring at the cross that would mark all of history.  That you would be weeping over the son who would be in the process of saving the world just as was predicted by hanging there dying as you watched.

Your heart will rage and break within you.  You will cry out for answers but you won’t understand.  It won’t make sense.  Much as it didn’t make sense when you conceived this child.  

You know this of God, Mary.  That He works in very mysterious ways and that those ways are not like ours.

Just wait Mary.  Just trust.  God is not finished.  Your son’s death is not the end.

Three days, Mary.  For three days you will grieve like there is no tomorrow.  You will want to die right alongside him and have your body placed next to the boy who had your heart from before he even made your belly swell.

Sunday is coming, Mary, I promise you.  You will see more things that don’t make sense, things too amazing and glorious for human words.  

You will see your son again.  And he will be more radiant and alive than ever before.

And miraculously, Mary, so will you.

How do I know this?  Because I am in the distant future, Mary.  I know your son.  I love your son, too.  And he is very much alive, never to die again.

And because of your beautiful son, Mary, I am alive, too.

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When The Dreamscape Changes….

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I am a strong believer that dreams mean something.

There are dreams that symbolize our emotions and situations. That put pictures to the inner goings-on of our everyday lives.

Most of us would agree that our subconscious is just waking up in the form of dreams when our conscious mind falls asleep.

I believe that in that state of mind, that place where our brains attempt to take a rest from the battle of each day, we are also able to glimpse spiritual truths and analogies that would escape our notice when other distractions are demanding our concentration and attention.

That’s why flashes of inspiration are born in the middle of the night.  Why our best ideas and deepest thoughts sometimes wake us up at two in the morning.

Our subconscious mind reaches toward our heart’s outstretched hand…

I’ve had many of these dreams that seem to preempt or follow something God is going to do or has done in my life. Sometimes as a forewarning or as a confirmation.

Last night’s dream was no exception…

A man with a familiar face was the main character in this dream state drama. He was well-known in the community. A powerful personality who, when he entered a room, people noticed.  He was a husband and father.

I was an outsider looking in through the windows of his house and seeing what appeared to be a normal family setting.  Like any other home I’d ever seen or experienced.

But as I watched the daily interactions of this household, it was obvious that something was amiss.  With the exception of the main character, each family member moved slowly, timidly.  Their voices were faint.  Their personalities seemed muffled and subservient.

I began to see that this father was not good man.  That he had a spell over these individuals that was turning them into nothing more than weary survivors and drones following his commands.

A knowing dread filled my heart as the telltale signs of dysfunction and displaced power morphed into blatant symptoms of abuse.

My eyes and ears suddenly went into high alert, my racing pulse exposing my fight or flight mentality.

I had to do something, not sure what.  

I climbed through a window left ajar, into an unknown place and situation that I knew would not be safe. It took only seconds to hear the first sound of trouble.

I ran to the aid of a whimpering child who was lying in the corner bleeding, cowering and afraid.  Through tears, her only words were, “I asked him to stop and he wouldn’t.”

Attending to her wounds, desperate for a place to take and hide her, I was interrupted by a scream.

In the next room was a mother standing over her teenage son who had been beaten unconscious.  He lay there, limp and seemingly lifeless, another victim of a mad man’s rage.

The blood that dripped from her grief-stricken, horrified mouth escaped a bruised and gaping wound that no doubt had come from an angry backhand.

I gathered them all in one room and knew he had to be stopped.  The thing that none of them had ever been able to do.  Their very lives depended on it.

I had to fight.

On every other occasion, at this point in a dream about such a nemesis, I would run for my life, hiding from his ugly words, his painful punches, his threatening gun or waving switchblade coming toward me.  Flight would have been my only response.

Last night was different.

This time I approached him head on, this man who pretended not to be the vile creature that he was.  He tried to intimidate me with his mocking words, his muscles flexed and ready to throw a debilitating punch.

I didn’t care.

With courage I’d never before possessed in this dream situation, I grabbed his face, looked straight into those ugly yellow eyes and called him out as the viper that he was.  Those eyes flashed, his sharp tongue spit curses at me, but he was powerless as long as I looked him in the eye.

I denounced every hateful thing that he’d done within that household.  I reminded him of the pain he had caused, the paralysis he had inflicted and the toxic environment his putrid presence had created.

I could feel the hate bleeding out of tears in my eyes as I looked at him and recounted every hateful thing this monster had done to his victims.

The authorities were called and he was dragged off, kicking and screaming, to be put away behind the bars where he belonged.

He would snarl and I would still see his face trying to make it’s way out of that cage.  But he had lost the fight.

And I was no longer going to have to run from this man named FEAR.

Because at his core, FEAR was a coward and I had found that weak place in his yellow eyes.  That place where the tables were turned and the power was no longer his.  He was only so loud and abusive because he knew he wasn’t invincible.

I woke up with such clarity, it brought me to my knees.

This was the visual representation that my soul has been experiencing nearly all my life.  Half a century.

Fear and its familiar face has always lived in the house of my heart, tormenting, abusing, torturing me.

In every other dream I had fled and hid.

But after a year of facing the “man” eye to eye, my dreams have finally shifted, my character has found courage and my heart is finally at peace.

I am no longer afraid of fear itself.

The dream was in vivid color, and the yellow of the eyes of the man I called a snake, depicted the cowardice of the fear that comes from the original serpent in the very first garden of a world now crippled by this predator.

Each family member represented the parts of me that up to recently had felt trapped and powerless against his presence.

Handing him over to the authorities was me giving the monster over to God, to deal with him in ways that I could’t  on my own. Trusting that God has the keys to the cell that will keep him from ruining my life.

– Does fear have a grip on you?

– Have you been beaten up and left bleeding by his strangle hold on your life?

– Do his empty threats ring in your ears and drown out your own voice?

We are called to be warriors, not frightened victims.

Fear doesn’t have to be in charge.  You can fight back.  You can look him in the eye and deem him powerless.

You can give him over to the Authorities (Father, Son and Holy Spirit) and let them give him his just reward.

Don’t give him another day of freedom over you or your future.

You are stronger than you know and loved by Someone who has all the strength, wisdom and authority in the world to deal with fear and put it back into solitary confinement.

Psalm 27:1 – The LORD is my light and my salvation–so why should I be afraid? The LORD is my fortress, protecting me from danger, so why should I tremble?

Psalm 118:6 – The LORD is on my side; I will not fear. What can man (or “the man” fear) do to me?

2 Timothy 1:7 – For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.

Psalm 23:4 – Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.

Deuteronomy 31:6 – Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the Lordyour God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.

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Making A House A Home

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Yesterday I staged a home that just went on the market.

There is always a fire in me when I stage a place, ideas swirling, possibilities showing their shiny little faces.

Often the homes I go into are in need of far more than a decorator’s touch.  They are cluttered, messy and crying out for some organization. 

And so, I have to go in and clean and declutter before I can do what I really came there to do.  This, I would say, is the norm.

But yesterday’s home was a stager’s dream.

It was neat and tidy, not a thing out of place.

The homeowner had done all of the preliminary work of cleaning out, boxing up and throwing away.

The result was a blank canvas for me to work with.

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She had paved the way for my finishing work of beautifying.

To make her house a home.

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The perfect set up.

It made me think…

How many times do we ask God to do things in and through us without first cleaning out the closets, removing the trash and eliminating the things that are making our lives less than the beauty God intends?

I know that I’ve asked God to transform me, not recognizing my need to first prepare the canvas for His work.

The result?  He DOES come in to transform, but has to spend much of His time and mine weeding out what would negate anything lovely.

Because God, the ultimate Decorator of our lives, does not cover mess with beauty.

Imagine this:

What if I were preparing a home for professional real estate photos, the home was a disaster and I attempted to just do my thing any way, right over the chaos? I would be fired in a flash second.  Anything that I would bring in to beautify would be lost in the clutter of something ugly.

It just doesn’t make sense.

I need to inventory daily.  To see where my heart is becoming cluttered or dirty and do something about it. To rid myself of the sneaky culprits of pride and selfishness, impatience and jealousy.

Anything that uglifies my heart.

To continually offer Jesus an empty canvas, ready for His great design.

So here it is, Lord, the “house” of my life as empty as I know to make it.  If there are messy “closets” or dusty “corners” I’m not aware of, show me, so we can take care of it together and move on to the fun stuff. :-)

Make my “house”  Your beautiful home…. 

photo-33

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